


I'm Not Gonna Waste These Words

by CitrusVanille



Category: McFly
Genre: Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, M/M, Oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-28
Updated: 2009-04-28
Packaged: 2018-06-02 22:37:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6585352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CitrusVanille/pseuds/CitrusVanille
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a prompt based on <em><a href="http://twitpic.com/3witj">this picture</a></em>, posted by one Mr. Poynter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Not Gonna Waste These Words

They’ve got about an hour between when they get to the venue and when they have to start soundcheck, and all Danny wants to do is take a nap. His throat is killing him and he thinks his head would probably hurt less if it were removed entirely.

“Take these, I’ll make sure everyone clears out,” Harry tells him when they get to the greenroom, holds out a couple painkillers and a bottle of water.

“My hero,” Danny says, tries to grin, winces, and takes the pills.

Harry rolls his eyes, but says, “Any time you need me to be,” and gives him a push towards the sofa before turning to herd everyone out of the room.

Danny collapses onto the cushions, closes his eyes, and barely even hears the door closing.

He blinks awake what feels like only seconds later to someone tugging on his feet, and peers out from under his arms. “What are you doing?” he asks, it comes out kind of croaky.

Harry gives him an amused look. “You fell asleep with your shoes on. I just figured you’d be more comfortable without them.” He tugs again and both of Danny’s shoes come off. “How’re you feeling?”

Danny shifts his head a bit, testing. “Head’s better,” he says, voice still rough. “Throat’s still shit.”

“That should be all right, then,” Harry says, eyes him speculatively. “You’ll just have to be quiet.”

Danny stares at him for a split second, then, “What?”

Harry grins at him – and Danny knows that grin, knows it spells trouble – and slides a palm across Danny’s stomach where Danny’s shirt rides up. Danny sucks in a breath, and Harry’s grin turns into a smirk. “Wanted to do that since I came back in here and saw you,” he says, then, “Also wanted to do this,” and he hooks his fingers over the waist of Danny’s jeans, pulling them down without even undoing the belt.

“Fuck,” Danny breathes, feels himself getting hard in almost automatic response, but, “Haz, anyone could come in, this isn’t –”

“I locked the door,” Harry sounds supremely unconcerned, which is just not fair, Danny thinks, Harry’s supposed to be the smart one. “And Tom knows I was coming back. He just said not to be late for soundcheck. We have half an hour.”

“But,” says Danny, and swallows hard when Harry just raises an eyebrow at him and, cool as anything, tucks his fingers under the elastic of Danny’s underwear and tugs them down past his knees to bunch with his jeans. “Fuck,” Danny hisses, can’t help but arch his hips up a little bit.

“This is where you stop talking,” Harry says, grins again, “Wouldn’t want to strain your voice,” and then he’s ducking down, wrapping one hand around the base of Danny’s cock, lips around the head, and Danny swears again, then drops one arm down to bite into his wrist, other hand scrabbling at the cushions for purchase, because otherwise he’s going to grab the back of Harry’s head, and Harry really doesn’t like that when they’re in this position.

Then it’s all tongue and lips and hot, wet breath, and Danny squeezes his eyes shut, can’t watch, because, _god_ , Harry’s so good at this, and he knows exactly what Danny likes, and it’s going to all be over too fast as is. Harry’s arm is bracing Danny’s hip, holding him against the sofa, fingertips tracing light patterns across Danny’s stomach, and, fuck, he’s so close, makes a muffled noise against his own wrist. Faintest hint of teeth over sensitive skin, Harry’s mouth sliding all the way down to meet his hand, and Danny chokes and comes, teeth sinking into his own skin, and he can feel the tension in his throat anyway, but _fuck, fuck, fuck,_ he doesn’t care. He can feel Harry swallowing around him, muscles in his throat working, and Danny is _so gone_.

When Danny finally opens his eyes Harry’s smirking at him again. “Not bad,” he says, and Danny unsticks his teeth from his wrist with a wince.

“Go to hell,” he tells him, tries to glare, but neither the glare nor the curse carries much venom – Danny pretty much feels like he’s melted right into the cushions.

Harry’s smirk twists a little more, so obviously pleased with himself, but then he glances at the bite marks standing out against the freckles on Danny’s skin, and he frowns. “Sorry about this,” he says, picks up Danny’s hand, laces their fingers together and turns Danny’s hand over, presses his lips to the indents Danny knows will bruise by tonight.

Danny feels a warm flush that has nothing to do with afterglow, and tightens their entwined fingers. “Worth it,” he says, can hear the rougher edge to his voice now, but that’s worth it, too. He reaches up with his free hand to chuck Harry under the chin, grins at him. “So worth it,” he says, and grins wider when Harry grins back.


End file.
